


The Fallen Angel

by balthazar_in_221B



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Self Harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazar_in_221B/pseuds/balthazar_in_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my first Supernatural fanfiction, it was written for my friend. I hope you enjoy it!<br/>The lyrics from the beginning of the story is: Angels Have Fallen by Kansas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel triggered by semi-graphic descriptions of self harm, I recommend you do not read this. 
> 
> Disclaimer:I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters.

Angels have fallen, fallen from heaven,  
Where did they go?  
No one could save them,  
No one forgave them,  
Their chance to know.

Cas was alone. In both manners of the word. He was in Nevada - Dean and Sam had found a particularly gruesome case - and Cas decided to come with. Well, not entirely. He now found himself in an abandoned warehouse, at 2 a.m. He was faintly aware of the persistent dripping of rain through holes in the roof, along with the scuttle of rats in the dark shadows of the hollow corpse of a building. He stood there, arms hanging limply by his sides, his left coat sleeve getting wet as a puddle of rainwater steadily grew on the floor and each drip spattered his arm. And as Cas stood, he slowly drove himself more and more insane. 

What had he done? How had he messed up so badly? Trying to play God - oh, how stupid and naive he was! It was his fault the Leviathans escaped from Purgatory - it was his fault Dean had to suffer for months in there, fearing for his life, fighting monsters every single day. It was kill or be killed, in there. He hated himself for putting Dean in that position. Oh, God, what had he done? Dean must hate him. He must hate him. 

As this realisation radiated through his body, he felt the phantom pain in his hands, legs, making him feel numb. His legs fold underneath his body, and, unable to hold himself up, he collapsed onto the floor of the warehouse, his hands smacking the cold, slimy, cement flooring. Feeling the tingle leave his hands, his self hatred invaded his mind again.  
All those angels he brutally murdered in heaven. His friends. They had done no real crime. They were supporting what they knew. It wasn't their fault - the angels have never known anything other than obeying. Why would he think they would follow him? All he was, was a mistake. An error. A broken angel surrounded by perfection. And he heartlessly killed his brothers. His sisters. He was a monster. He belonged in Purgatory. He deserved it.  
And then Samandriel. He was so innocent. He thought he was safe. How could he, how could Castiel bow to the pressure of Naomi? He was despicable. He murdered Samandriel in cold blood. 

Cas felt the weight of all his misdeeds, all his wrong doings, weighing up on his shoulders. He felt the weight of the earth. He was a mistake. He shouldn't be here. He would be better off dead. All the anger, all the frustration, all the self hatred was building up and he couldn't fight it. He felt it building up in his chest, pushing up into his throat - and he screamed. 

Not a scream of terror. A scream of realisation of all he had done. It was a broken scream. A broken scream to match a broken angel. As he screamed out all the pain, all the loss, and the hatred, tears started pouring down his face. 

He screamed for hours. 

Eventually, he ran out of energy. His screams had fallen away to give into broken sobs, and he curled in on himself on the floor. Cas started to think more clearly, and he felt pathetic. What a pathetic excuse of an angel he was. The pain was building up in his chest, and it felt like his heart was ripping itself to pieces, it felt like his lungs had collapsed. He could no longer scream - he had screamed for so long and so loud he had nearly ripped his vessel's vocal chords. Cas could only croak brokenly, tears still streaming down his face. He needed to release the pressure. He needed to feel pain. 

He needed to punish himself. 

In one fluid movement, Cas was sitting up, legs crossed, with his angel blade gripped tightly in his hand. It glinted in the dim moonlight, and as Cas considered what he was about to do, he felt overwhelmingly numb. It felt good. He rolled up the left sleeve of his trench coat, and pressed the cold, sharp blade to his pale skin. He sat there, contemplating, and with one swift movement he pulled the edge along his skin, creating a deep, straight wound. He had cut so deep he saw the pale, white flesh there before the blood started pooling. The pain was just bearable - the wound stung and smarted painfully, and Cas felt unbelievably light as he watched the blood well up and start to slither down his arm. He pressed the blade to his flesh and did it again. And again. Cas lost count of how many times he had torn open his flesh in that short space of time.

A puddle of slick blood started to form on the warehouse floor, and the lacerations bled uncontrollably, blood splatters staining his trenchcoat where the blood fell. He felt himself becoming numb, but also faint - and he realised the full extent of what he had done. His entire arm was throbbing; he could feel his heart pumping the blood out of his wounds. Cas teleported to the Winchesters motel room. At least if he fainted, they would look after him. Dean was in the room, sitting on one of the beds, surfing the TV that came with the room. When Cas appeared, Dean jumped and started to utter, "Dammit, Cas-" before he saw the state of his angel. Cas was splattered with blood, one of his coat sleeves was shoved roughly up to his elbow and - oh god - his left arm was completely covered in thick, deep cuts. All of them were bleeding, still - the sheer amount of blood was staggering. It already started dripping onto the floor, staining the dirty green carpet. 

Cas looked at Dean.  
"I'm... I'm sorry, Dean..."

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Dean rushing to catch him.


End file.
